


wired

by nd_mindoir



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Finch sucks at wiring, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Root sucks at emotional support, unless it's Shaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25361077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nd_mindoir/pseuds/nd_mindoir
Summary: Finch may be a genius billionaire, but his wire managment leaves a lot to be desired. One day, Root has had enough of it.
Kudos: 19





	wired

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this short story came when I introduced POI to a friend and she complained about Finch’s wire management in the library. She said, “for a billionaire tech genius I would expect better” and I was like, “it was probably Nathan who always did that.”
> 
> So here we are. Just a drabble but it's my headcanon now.

Root noticed it the first time she was their ‘guest’ at the library. For all his controlling presence, calm demeanor, and preference for tidiness, especially the space surrounding his technology, Finch has very poor wire management. Really, it’s a miracle no one has died from tripping over them or that Bear hasn’t nibbled away at them.

She never spoke up about it. Why should she? There hasn’t been a time she was in the library voluntarily. She may have returned to imprisonment on her own rather than being dragged back into the cell, but even that had more to do with the Machine telling her that’s where she was needed. She had wondered about the why but never questioned it.

Only a handful of times she came back without any locks or faraday cages being involved. But then she thought it rather poor attitude to comment on the cables lying all over the place and being death-traps for anyone stepping through the halls. She wouldn’t care about proper manners normally, but she was there to ask favors after all.

When they moved their base of operation into the subway tunnels, Root didn’t say anything on the wiring as they had more important matters to attend to. She wasn’t down there all too often anyway, so how Finch decided to plug and coordinate his cables was his decision. At least he kept his workspace clear and clean otherwise. And the way he tapped into the third rail for power wasn’t done half bad.

But now, as she watches him plug one ethernet cable after the other into the PlayStations, not caring how it looks and if they’re tangled up or posing a danger otherwise, she’s had enough. This is not just a computer after all. Not a simple rack in a server farm. This is the Machine. A god. She deserves some proper care.

“That’s it,” she mutters after watching him for five minutes.

She roughly shoves past him and begins to unplug the cables again, rolls them up and throws them back into the cardboard box Reese had brought in earlier. It’s filled with enough wiring, power strips, and zip ties to build the supercomputer they need for Her.

“Miss Groves?” To his credit, Finch sounds more confused than angry at her antics. “What are you doing?”

When she doesn’t answer but continues undoing all his work, he grows agitated. Bear, seemingly sensing his discomfort, whines from outside the car.

“Miss Groves,” he tries again.

“You’re a billionaire tech genius who created a god,” Root mutters. “I’d expect you know about proper cable management.”

She shakes her head as she unplugs the last one.

She doesn’t really notice the silence in the subway car turning stiff and uncomfortable until Finch takes a deep breath. Root moves just in time to watch him step back and plop down into the chair. He stares out of the window at nothing particular.

“It was Nathan who always did the cables.”

Oh.

Root grimaces. She may not be the most sensitive or empathic person on the planet, but if there’s one thing she does understand, it’s loss. And it’s not something she wanted to discuss right now. Or ever. Certainly not with the world around them already falling apart and hell on their doorstep.

“Harold,” she tries but isn’t really sure what to say.

An apology, no matter how serious, seems empty. She likes to think of Finch as her friend by now, but he’s an even more private person than she. Also, there’s so much animosity in their shared past that an honest heart-to-heart might be just a tad too much. Especially after he all but forced her to let go of her search for Shaw. Repeatedly. Not that she has any intention of adhere to his plea once the Machine is online again and hopefully able to assist.

Finch, however, doesn’t seem to share her doubts. He chuckles slightly as his lips form a sad smile. He’s still staring through the glass, probably observing an old memory only he can see.

“He used to say the same, you know?” His tone shifts into what Root believes is an imitation of his deceased friend. “ _How can a man with your IQ run a cable like that?_ When we first built the Machine, he made sure I never even touch the cables.”

Root stares at the yellow wire in her hand and then back at the array of gaming consoles all waiting to be connected to each other. The Machine is humming softly on its dozens of memory sticks in the briefcase. A blue light reminds them every few seconds that She’s still alive, more or less.

“It’s never too late to learn something new. Or perfect something old,” she turns back to him, her face carefully blank, void of any of her usual smirks and holds out the cable. “And She deserves nothing but perfection, don’t you think?”

For a few tense seconds, they stare at each other and neither says a word. Bear looks back and forth between them from his bed.

“You’re right,” Finch gets up and limps towards her.

He reaches out for the cable and, after a beat or two, Root lets go of it and moves out of the way to let him get back to the consoles.

“So, tell me what to do.”

Root smiles as she tells him where to plug what cable, which to tie into a bundle, and where to attach them to.

She may not have the words for him, may not know how to offer condolences about the loss of his friend, a loss he blames no one but himself for, and create a space of comfort instead. It is a familiar pain, but none she ever learned how to deal with. She had plenty people to blame, but just like Finch no one to help.

This, however, is something she knows. And maybe, just maybe, it’s enough for both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> ask me anything on [tumblr](https://nd-mindoir.tumblr.com/)


End file.
